


Bring Out Your Dead

by enigmaticblue



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-01
Updated: 2010-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-07 15:32:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after In Harm's Way in Ats S5. Wesley and Spike find out they have more in common than they realized.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring Out Your Dead

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to Seas Between Us and was inspired by watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

Spike stood at the window in Angel’s office, looking out over the lights of the city. The older vampire was all tucked away in his private quarters for the night, having moved to an almost completely diurnal schedule. It wasn’t as if they had to worry about the sun with the necromanced windows.

He snorted his contempt. Angel liked to pretend he wasn’t a vampire, that his vampire status had nothing to do with his daily life. Spike knew better. Being undead colored every thought, every action, and he happened to think that there was nothing there worth being ashamed of.

“What are you doing here?”

Spike started slightly and turned, knowing who it was even though the other man was hidden by the shadows. “Nothin’.” He really wasn’t doing anything. Well, he had snooped a bit earlier, but he hadn’t done any harm. “I’ll go.”

Spike wasn’t sure where he was supposed to go. His idea had been to catch a kip on Angel’s couch, which was certainly more comfortable than any of the empty offices. It wasn’t as if he had another place to crash. The melancholy that sometimes pervaded his being was weighing heavily on him tonight however. He was feeling more and more useless as the days and nights went by.

What purpose had he been brought back for? Made solid again for?

“You don’t have to go,” Wesley replied, stepping into the dim light filtering through the windows. There was something in Spike’s expression that caught at him. Perhaps it was because he’d seen the same wistfulness on his own face of late.

Things had changed more than he’d ever expected after coming to Wolfram &amp; Hart. The group was more fragmented now than they had been after—his brain refused to complete the thought, the comparison slipping away from him.

“I thought you might be Angel,” Wesley explained, coming over to the window to stand next to the vampire. It was very late, and he was tired, but he had no desire to sleep.

Sleep was uncomfortable these days.

Spike’s raised eyebrow gave the distinct impression that he didn’t much care for that idea. “’m hardly Angel.”

“I didn’t know who else would be in here.”

Spike nodded, taking Wesley’s words at face value. “I was just lookin’ for his DVD player or somethin’. Figured with that bloody big telly, he’d have to have a player of some sort.”

“I think it’s in the cabinet below,” Wesley replied vaguely. Then, his gaze sharpening, he said, “I never got a chance to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For saving Fred’s life.” Wesley felt a stirring of pure curiosity, the likes of which he had not felt, it seemed, in a lifetime. This was a vampire who had sought his own soul, who had died to save the world, and who had given up his best chance at coporeality to save the life of a woman he barely knew.

Spike shrugged, looking away. “Didn’t do it for you.” Then he looked back at his companion and recognized something. His blue eyes widened slightly with understanding, and he nodded once. “Glad to help, though.”

Wesley nodded, and then turned away with a sigh. He would not sleep, not tonight. Instead, he would go through the prophecies, trying to find out as much about their erstwhile employers as he could. Perhaps there would be time for a nap tomorrow, but he didn’t want to chance dreaming.

“You want to watch a vid?”

Wesley turned back, surprised. “What now?”

“You want to watch a movie?” Spike asked again patiently. “Thought it would—take my mind off things for a bit. Just thought you might want to join me.”

It had been a long time since anyone had issued an invitation like that. Gunn was too caught up in his new duties and new image, and their friendship still wasn’t on solid ground, not after their rivalry over Fred.

Fred was too busy with her lab, and Cordy was still in her mystical coma. Angel—well, Angel seemed to have taken his new position as CEO to heart and had little time for anything else.

The ex-Watcher was silent for so long that Spike figured he’d either gone to sleep or had decided to leave. It made no difference to him. He had just thought the company might be nice, and the man had balls. Anyone who would kill their own father—or something they thought was their father—to protect the woman he loved was worth a second look.

Spike had been feeling homesick—mostly for Buffy, but also for Dawn. He had no home, really, except for where the Slayer was. He had no doubt that he had made the right decision by staying in L.A., but some days were harder than others. Some nights the loneliness came crashing down on him so hard that he couldn’t stand up straight for the weight of it.

Tonight was one of those nights. Company would have been nice, but it wasn’t as though he wasn’t alone every other night of the week.

Spike was about to tell the ex-Watcher to forget it when the man finally spoke. “What movie?”

“_Monty Python and the Holy Grail_,” Spike replied. “Wanted a laugh tonight.”

Wesley looked mildly interested. “I’ve never seen it,” he admitted.

Spike’s eyebrows went up. “What? You been livin’ under some rock, mate?”

A rueful smile touched the corners of Wesley’s lips. “Something like that,” he admitted, choosing not to clarify. At the heights of Monty Python’s popularity, Wesley had been in school and forbidden such frivolities. Later, he had chosen to concentrate solely on his books in the futile attempt to make his father proud.

There had been a time, early in his relationship with Angel and Cordelia when Cordy had tried to remedy both his and Angel’s lack of familiarity with popular culture, but Monty Python had never appealed to her.

Wesley still remembered watching _The Princess Bride_ with both of them when Cordy discovered that neither he nor Angel had seen the film.

Spike shook his head in mock indignation. “Can’t believe a fellow countryman wouldn’t have seen the genius of Monty Python. Bloody hell, what is this world coming to?”

Spike’s rather overdone drama was enough to pull a full-fledged smile out of Wesley, something that had not happened in weeks. Not since he’d shot his cyborg-father, not since Fred had told him she didn’t—couldn’t—think about him in that way. “What are we waiting for then?” he asked with a show of impatience he didn’t feel.

They would both perhaps think of that night as being rather dream-like. The lateness of the hour, the surrealness of the movie, the strange company—it didn’t seem quite real. At the same time, both found themselves chuckling at the same places, even though neither laughed aloud. Wesley’s spirit was still too heavy for laughter; Spike was remembering the last time he had seen the movie with Dawn, the summer Buffy was gone.

When it was over, Wesley looked over at Spike and gave him a smile. It was the sort of smile one reserved for one’s friends, and Spike felt his soul stirring in his chest. For a moment, the loneliness of both was lightened. “You ever see anything else of theirs?”

Wesley shook his head. “I’m afraid it was a rather large rock I was living under, and for a rather long time.”

“We’ll have to do this again, then,” Spike said, having no idea of what Wesley’s reaction might be to that. “Their other stuff is just as good.”

Wesley considered the suggestion for a moment before responding, “I think I would like that. Do you—” He broke off and then began again. “Would you mind telling me how you got your soul sometime? It’s absolutely unheard of, you know.”

“I know,” Spike said with a wry smile, but there was a strange stirring in his chest again. No one had asked. Perhaps Buffy felt she didn’t have to, but no one else had inquired either, not even Giles.

It was as if his quest was unimportant, as if he was insignificant. Knowing that someone else might want to know—helped. Spike wasn’t certain what it helped, but it did.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “Be happy to give you the whole story.”

Wesley nodded, rising to his feet. He thought he might perhaps be able to sleep after all. “Thank you, Spike. For the film. It was—” Wesley grinned like a boy. “It was surprisingly good.” He paused at the doorway. “Why don’t you come by my office tomorrow? Whenever you wake up is fine. And the couch in my office—it’s just as comfortable as Angel’s.”

With that parting invitation, Wesley took himself out the door. Spike was left staring at the open doorway, finally pulling himself off the couch. It was only an hour or two till sunrise, and Angel would be up and about soon. Somehow, annoying Angel wasn’t nearly as appealing today, not when the melancholy lingered.

Besides, it would hardly do to get caught up in fighting with his grandsire when he had a Watcher to visit later that day.


End file.
